


A Private Sonata

by melancholicInspiration



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:00:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melancholicInspiration/pseuds/melancholicInspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg walks in on Mycroft playing the piano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Private Sonata

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend of mine on Tumblr. Hope you like this man. 
> 
> This is the song he's playing (ooc piano pieces lmao): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5GncKaNM5M

If there was one thing that was true about English winters it was that on good days it was bitter cold and raining, and during the winter it was reasonably warm and snowing. Being covered entirely by water did that. Being alone on the holidays made it even worse, no cozy fire to curl up besides, no drinks between friends or family - that was the usual routine that Greg Lestrade had come to expect out of the holiday season. Just because he didn't dwell on it, didn't mean it didn't bother him most of the time, not that he would ever mention it or directly ask for help staving off the bitter loneliness. 

Maybe this was the reason that he travelled well out of his way to visit a man he had come to see as a friend, despite his cold and aloof nature, Mycroft Holmes. Much unlike his brother, Mycroft had some endearing qualities and Lestrade maybe had developed a bit of a romantic interest in the man, again not a thing he would dare speak aloud. Mutual silences were shared between them, comfortable ones mind you, and their rather hazardous and frankly insane work schedules were also as common as other things would be between other kinds of friends. No pressure and Lestrade could count on his hand the number of times Mycroft asked him for something that wasn't basically 'Make sure Sherlock isn't doing something stupid'. Sherlock always in some definitions did something that was either criminal, stupid, and in some cases both.

Sherlock was a child, Mycroft was a man. Though he was sure that Mycroft could be just as petulant, just as childish, but Lestrade rarely heard or saw any evidence of it. Prior to their first meeting, Lestrade hardly knew who he was. So the more he learned about him, the more he noticed he was getting emotionally involved. Usually Lestrade would hesitate, would back away or come up with some excuse to stop before things got too far, but he felt no such panic, felt no desire to run with his tail tucked between his legs. When put up against an enemy taller or more powerful, animals usually scurried away to safety - maybe it was human nature that kept him defiant or maybe it was because Mycroft never presented himself as a direct threat to Lestrade. There was no question that the man could cut an intimidating figure, hell the man had probably killed someone once in the past.

Lestrade didn't want to think about that. 

The old DI walked into the grandiose house, it was a faint surprise that Mycroft had left the door wide open, was he expecting him? Or someone else. The idea of such a powerful man keeping his door open to anyone walking in and doing god knew what had him concerned and he surreptitiously locked the door after he entered. His role as a Detective Inspector had him just scoping out the place to make sure that everything was okay, that noone had done away with one of the few men he actually had feelings for.

Greg was expecting gunfire, shouting, sounds or signs of struggle but that was not what he heard. Instead, the sounds that floated down the stairs were that of someone lightly playing the piano. Expertly even. He could hardly recognize the song, but he was taken so off guard he was almost relieved to hear that Mycroft was in no more mortal peril than he was on any given day. He felt himself smile softly, signs of relaxation beginning to show in his shoulders and his hands went slack just slightly. 

Walking up the stairs felt like being in a trance, the sounds of the ivory keys seemed to reverberate throughout the house and that drew him forward. Greg was never a man for drugs, though he often indulged in his cigarettes and the occasional beer or even a scotch, but this felt like something else. Not addictive, but intriguing and it filled him with an unusual sense of peace - something was rare for any police officer, let alone someone who had to deal with Sherlock Holmes on a regular basis.

The door to the room where the music was coming from was no different from any of the other doors in the house, but Greg was suddenly overcome by the subtle feeling that he was intruding on something _private_ , something personal. Something he wasn't supposed to see. 

The Mycroft Holmes playing the piano in the room he just entered was not a version of him he was used to seeing. The Mycroft he was told about, albeit briefly and in cruder terms, was cold, a high ranking government official, someone who ran everything from top to bottom and worked himself nearly to death on a regular basis. To Greg's knowledge, which wasn't extensive by any means, he barely showed emotion or sentimentality, he kept everything clean and ordered, he was not known for being gentle or kind.

The past few months he had seen some great acts of quiet kindness from the man. Greg didn't know what to think, what to _feel,_ and hardly could think of any words to say to the man that had just appeared in his life like he had always been there, like he belonged next to Lestrade.

The world-weary DI smiled as the thought occurred to him as he sat down near the closed door, just content to sit and listen to Mycroft playing. How his fingers gently traced the edges of the keys before moving to the next chord, how there seemed to be hints of a smile at one part or a frown of the other. It was beautiful in a way that only Greg was privy to, a performance that only he knew about.

 

Within one occurrence, Greg Lestrade knew just how deeply he had fallen in love with Mycroft Holmes.


End file.
